


Albus Alone

by birdsofshore



Series: Unguarded [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angsty Wanking, Dildos, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Object Insertion, Pining, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Inexperience, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/pseuds/birdsofshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've got to stop this. Right now. Today. Forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Albus Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to lumosed_quill and raitala for beta services, and to snowgall for continuity beta. 
> 
> I promise that Albus and Draco will meet again in the next part of the series. Meanwhile I do hope you enjoy this.

Merlin, I just wish they'd go.

“... and there's some soup under a warming charm if you're really hungry later, but for goodness sakes use a bowl, don't just stand and eat it out of the pan.”

Lily's helping herself to more porridge. “Mum, can we go to Scribbulus? I need parchment.”

“Scribbulus? Again? This wouldn't have anything to do with that cute boy who works there, would it?”

“What boy?”

“What boy? Let me think. Perhaps the one you and Bessie were peeping at for half an hour the last time we went in. The one with all the eyeshadow.”

“I just need parchment!” But the blush reddening Lily's ears says otherwise. Looks like Lily has got over Professor Darton pretty fast. Dad will be relieved, anyway. I heard him talking to Mum about it, saying he didn't like the idea of his little girl mooning over some middle-aged bloke. Mum told him not to be ridiculous. Said it was really normal for young people to have crushes. That it was completely harmless. Like practising on someone safe until you're ready for the real thing.

“Fine. We can go.” Mum gulps the remains of her coffee. “But, in return, please don't complain if it takes a long time at Twilfitt and Tattings— don't make that face, Lily, we absolutely do need to go there. You've grown another two inches, and I need a fitting for dress robes as well, my old sets are so frumpy...”

So, Lily's done with her little crush now. I guess it's time for me to get over mine. The worst bit is, it did feel like the real thing. But what would I know?

Mum turns to me again. “Absolutely no Flooing all your friends to come round the moment we're out. I don't ever want to come home and find the sitting room full of Nifflers again.”

“Mum! That was about five years ago. And it wasn't even me. I'm not James, OK?”

“No, I suppose you're not.” She sighs, looking suddenly tired. “I wish he'd stayed longer over Christmas before dashing off again, god knows where. _Travelling_. The house is too quiet without him, and— Oh, Albus, are you sure you don't want to come with us? You've hardly been out all week.”

I shake my head. “Too much homework,” I mumble. If only she knew what I really have planned.

“Well, don't work too hard. You've been shut away in your room most of Christmas...” She sighs, and I feel guilt churning in my stomach. It mixes unpleasantly with the dull thrum of desire that sits there, well, pretty much all of the time, really.

I push my half-finished bowl of porridge away, and Mum makes a cluck of concern. “Finish that off, Albie. No?” She comes over and strokes my hair. “Well, eat something decent for lunch, at least. You've grown so much this year. You're going to be as tall as Uncle Ron if you don't watch out.”

Lily starts to clear the table, and I push my chair back to give her a hand.

“Don't eat the cold chicken, though. That's for dinner. Right. We'd better be off. Diagon gets so busy by mid-morning, and if we're going to get to Grandma's in time for lunch... Would you Charm the breakfast bowls and put all this away, Albus?”

I nod and get on with it, while she and Lily bustle about a bit, finding bags and coats. Mum tuts when Lily starts fiddling with her hair in the mirror, but when she nips upstairs _just to get something_ (I bet it's a book – it's always a book, with Lily), Mum's starting to get that dangerous look on her face. I feel like I'm going to explode if they don't leave soon, but I carry on tidying up, trying to ignore the fact that my pulse is thumping in my ears.

I can do this. I can— for fuck's sake, would they just leave now? How long does it take to put a pair of boots on? Then Mum can't find her gloves.

At last, at bloody long last, they're hugging me and I only hope Mum doesn't notice that I'm shaking slightly. The Floo flares once, twice, as they step in, there's a rushing of air, and then silence.

*~*

My room is quiet and calm. I've got the curtains drawn against the watery December sun and everything laid out ready on the bed. My wand. The lube – the apple one that's my favourite. I make a mental note that it's running out. My silver-grey dildo. I even tidied my room this morning, though I'm not really sure what for. I just wanted to be prepared. To have everything I need. So I can do this properly... one last time. And then I won't need to think about him ever again.

I'm sick of skulking around like this. Of feeling Mum watching me over dinner, of knowing she's worried about me. Of hearing Dad talk about his day, and not being able to meet his eyes because I know he's been out risking his life for us, fighting Dark wizards, and here I've been, sitting and bloody obsessing over someone who nearly got him – who nearly got _everyone_ – killed in the War.

I found a book about it. I went down to the Whispering Library in Holborn last week, saying I needed some stuff for schoolwork. I know everything now.

I've got to stop this. Right now. Today. Forever.

There's got to be something wrong with me, though. Even after I read about it – and some of it gave me bloody nightmares – I can't stop thinking about him. Hoping I'll bump into him somewhere. Or that Scorp will invite me to stay again, that I'll get up in the night and _he'll_ be there, waiting. Just waiting. I wouldn't need to say anything. He'd know, just know, what I needed, and he'd give it to me... oh, god, would he give it to me.

I make a stifled sound in my throat. My eye keeps going to the dildo, the soft sheen of it, its tempting curves and the smooth sweep of its length. I'm half hard already. I think I've been half hard since I got up. I could have easily wanked in the shower before breakfast, but I didn't want to take the edge off. I want to feel every throb of longing, every shiver and gasp. I want to submerge myself in want for him until I'm nearly drowning. Until it hurts – until I'm sick of it. Until it chokes me. Until I hear his name and just the sound of it makes me cold all over. Until I could look him in the eye and not feel one single flicker of desire.

I can't live with myself like this. The constant hoping and then the lows when nothing happens. Not being able to concentrate on anything. The longing for him so bad I feel I might die, and feeling so ashamed, so very ashamed, so bad and dirty inside and out. Hiding it from my Dad. From Mum. Feeling so weird around Scorp. I feel like Scorp doesn't know who I am any more, and if he did know he would hate me. It's got to stop. I'm going to have one more time ‒ one fucking incredible, amazing last time ‒ thinking of Mr Malfoy, and then I'm going to get on with the rest of my life.

Dad was talking about New Year's resolutions ‒ well, this is mine. To be the son they deserve. To have some fucking self-respect.

Mum and Lily won't be back for hours, but I ward the doors just the same. Everything looks sort of sharp around the edges, and when I start to undo my shirt and my fingers brush against my throat, my skin feels hot and weirdly sensitive to the touch. I rush the first couple of buttons, then make myself slow down. I try to calm my breathing a little as the next button slips out of its notch. I think about Mr Malfoy watching me. Would his face be stern and serious, or would he wear that sleek smile?

I undo another button and then untuck my shirt. My cock is fully hard now, pushing impatiently against the seam of my jeans, and I cover the bulge with my palm, a small sound of excitement creeping from my throat as I run my hand along the length. It only takes a moment to deal with my belt and the buttons of my fly, to step out of my jeans and shrug off my socks. I undo another button of my shirt and slip my hand inside. I'm blushing as I let my fingers trace the fine hairs on my chest. I imagine Mr Malfoy nodding, his eyes running all over me.

I try to think what he might say. His voice is so steady and confident. _“That's right, Albus. Touch yourself. Now touch your nipples.”_

My face is hot, but it feels so good, my fingers playing with first one and then the other, teasing them into hard nubs. I roll the left one between my fingers and moan a little, then remember there's no-one here to hear me, no-one at all. The right one gets a pinch and I groan loudly as sparks of pleasure shoot down to my groin.

_“That's it. You're such a good boy.”_

My cock leaks a pulse of pre-come onto the cotton of my pants, and I think of him seeing the wetness spreading there. Knowing exactly how much I want him. How my body pleads for him. I undo the last shirt button and follow the trail of hair down to the silky skin just below my belly. I wish Mr Malfoy could see. See my erection straining at the fabric of my underwear. See my breath coming faster already, see the flush building on my chest and neck as I let my fingers skate over the head of my cock, feeling the ridge of it through the material. God, I wish he was here. Sometimes I think I'd do anything, anything, just to have one more time like that. I just don't know if I can ever get over how it was, how he―

I take a deep breath and let my hand move down to cup my balls. They feel heavy, achingly full. I think about pulling myself off quickly to relieve the pressure. It would only take a few moments, and then I could take my time... but no. I'm going to do this exactly the way I planned it.

I move to my wardrobe, open the door wide. A few things tumble out and fall onto the floor, but I just kick them onto the pile at the bottom. There's a full length mirror on the inside of the door, and I frown at my flushed face and the way my hair falls messily across my eyes, but the open shirt and the bulge in my pants look like something from one of those magazines I saw at Floggit and Tease. I look – I don't know. Dishevelled... and really, really turned on. Like there's only one thing on my mind. Is it weird to like looking at myself like this? I mean, I don't like my stupid knees, and I'm not at all sure about the hair on my stomach. There seems to be more growing there every time I check. I hate my mouth, as well – it's all soft, like a girl's. But somehow, standing here half-dressed, seeing my body as he would see it... so fired up, so needy, so _ready_ for him... it's making me burn with a fierce longing.

I twitch the shirt from one shoulder, letting it hang down across my arm. Is that sexy? Would he like that? I probably look a complete idiot, trying to pose like this. Like I think I'm something special to look at. But he said... he said I was beautiful.

I try to swallow away the lump that's rising up in my throat and watch my hand moving over the skin of my stomach, raising gooseflesh as it goes. I half-close my eyes and try to pretend that it's not my fingers at all. That it's his hand touching me, learning my contours and the texture of my skin. I let it linger, moving almost tenderly. It crosses my hipbone, tracing the line of the bone and then down towards the swell of my cock. He didn't really touch me like this, but maybe he would, if― A broken sound comes from my mouth as I imagine it's his manicured fingers instead of my hand with the bitten nails. Oh, god, it looks so wrong, to watch myself like this, see myself arching into my own touch as I press my erection firmly against my palm and then give it a long, loving squeeze. So fucking wrong, but my legs are almost trembling with how worked up I am.

_“Shirt off, now, Albus.”_

I let the shirt fall off the other shoulder, so it's draped around my back. I don't know, but I think it looks good. The whiteness of it makes my skin look less pasty, maybe. I let it slither onto the floor in a heap, next to my crumpled jeans. Mum would have a fit, but in my head Mr Malfoy is purring.

 _“Oh, Albus. That's very good. Now let me see you.”_ In my mind's eye, there's a pause as he raises his chin. _“All of you.”_

My cheeks are flaming, but I tuck my thumbs into the waistband of my pants. My cock juts out to the left, a solid, eager length, just waiting to be set free. I meet my own eyes in the mirror. My pupils are dark and wide. I imagine Mr Malfoy frowning at my hesitation, and I hook the fabric over and down with a little gasp as my erection springs free, the air cool on my heated skin. Would he have liked it better if I went slower? Too late, I guess. _You'll never find out all the things he likes now_ , says a voice in my head, and I screw up my eyes. I don't want to think about that. I just want to enjoy it. Thinking of him and how fucking perfect it was.

I step out of my pants, looking like a clumsy fool if the glimpses I get in the mirror are anything to go by. But then I'm standing in front of the mirror totally naked, my cock a deep pink and straining upwards. _Fuck_. I take it in my fist and stroke myself, just once, twice, watching my reflection the whole time. My mouth opens in a little 'O' shape. It looks so dirty. I look... well, actually I look sort of hot. Just holding my erection like that, and... Merlin. I squeeze my thumb over the head and moan as a bead of pre-come rolls lazily from the slit. I'm still adjusting to the fact that I have so much time. I can take as long as I want – no need to rush before someone comes into the dorm. No keeping absolutely silent after lights out. Just me, and my hand, and... and the dildo.

I glance over my shoulder to where it lies on the bed. Just the sight of it makes my prick twitch in anticipation. I don't know why I love it so much... being fucked. Not just love it – I _need_ it. The dildo is not half as good as when I was with Mr Malfoy, of course... but it's as good as I can get.

I watch myself in the mirror a bit longer, hand moving over my prick. I force myself to be slow and careful, despite the compelling tension coiled at the base of my spine and tormenting me for release. I picture Mr Malfoy in front of me. Stripping off his clothes with easy, fluid movements. The lean strength of his body revealing its secrets. The heart-stopping sight of his cock, the weight of his balls hanging beneath. I honestly think if he were here right now my legs would fold and take me down on my knees of their own volition. All the nights I've dreamed about worshipping him with my mouth. All the nights I've prayed for him to come and claim me. I screw my eyes up and imagine him stepping behind me, his hands moving with possessive ease over my body. The press of his cock against my backside as he brings our bodies flush together, his erection pushing arrogantly along the crack of my arse. His skin would be pale and perfect in the mirror, as he reaches around to work my cock with his clever fingers. And the faded, unsettling shape of the Dark Mark, standing stark, like a threat, against the whiteness of his forearm.

God, I want him so much I can taste my own need, hot and sharp on my tongue. But I feel so ashamed I want to curl up on this mess of clothes at the bottom of my wardrobe and howl like a wounded dog. And the shame just makes me want him more, to come and make me feel special again, to make me feel like I'm good enough.

My mouth is drooping and my eyes flit over my face in the mirror as if I can't even meet my own gaze, but my prick, far more brazen, hasn't faltered one bit. I let Mr Malfoy take over again and imagine him ordering me onto the bed. My mouth is dry as I clamber on. I uncork the apple lube and drizzle a little into my palm. My hand shakes and some spills onto the cover, but I'll clear everything up later. The scent of apples is so fresh, so wholesome, but I feel like I'll always associate it with the feel of a dildo working its slippery way deep into my body. I've been thinking about this for about a day and a half and it's gone beyond need now and into bone-deep desperation. My hand is shaking as I reach back and press a slick finger against the sensitive furled skin of my arsehole.

I remember how I felt when he first touched me there. I thought I was going to die of shame, but also that I might combust from it, from his fingers actually pressing inside me, stroking and probing where no-one had ever touched me before. It felt wrong and embarrassing and a bit scary, and, oh, Merlin, so hot, so very fucking hot. Who knew it would feel that way, who could have dreamed... Just thinking about it is making me want to bury my head in the pillow and yelp. I have a theory I could come from that alone, purely from his fingers. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I bet I could. I wonder if he'd like that. Seeing me coming to pieces, crying out, begging him for more. If he'd touch my cheek, tell me I was doing so well.

I'm pretty adept at getting myself ready, now. I don't tense up too much any more when I slip the middle finger in, past the tightness that tries to clench closed to keep me out, sliding in nicely all the way up to the knuckle. Ah, god. I wish I could make it feel like he did, but the angle's too awkward. I feel like an idiot, crouched here on the bed like this, and for a moment I have to stop and check the wards, just to be sure no-one will see.

I coat my finger with more lube and press in again, thinking about how it was that night. I remember everything. The luxurious smell of his sheets, his hand steady on my back. His tongue, oh god, his tongue. Like the softest, wettest... just the fact he actually put his mouth there, let alone what he did with it. I never dreamt... never. I can still hardly believe that actually happened. How could someone like _him_ be willing to do that for _me_? A fierce swell of mixed-up stuff rises up in my chest, guilt and need and, I don't know, fucking _awe_ at how good he was to me, and part of me just wants to get under the covers and hide from the whole fucking world, thinking about what I had, and what I've lost. I wish, I wish so much that he was here. I wish that he wasn't who he is. Except that I don't wish that, I can't, because I want him exactly as he is, so fine, so bloody _perfect_. I don't know what I wish. I just wish I knew what to do, because I think he might have ruined me forever.

My finger is still teasing gently in and out, trying to get myself to relax, to get loose enough so that I can work the dildo inside, and I fix my mind on that, on how it's going to be when I'm on my hands and knees, getting it good and proper. Anticipation bubbles through me at the thought, and I add a second finger and use yet more lube to persuade my body to allow entry. I love how it feels when I'm all slippery and just starting to lose the tightness. When I stop wanting to flinch away, and start wanting to push back. Start wanting it harder. Start wishing he was here to pin me down and make me take it, start to long for the stretch of something thicker than my fingers. I love it when I hear myself making greedy little noises and know that soon I'll be ready, so ready, for his cock.

Except he isn't here.

My face twists as I use two fingers, circle them as much as I can at this weird angle, almost hurting as I stretch my own rim, the sloppy lube smoothing the way and spilling slickly onto my thighs. He's not here, so I'll have to make do. At least I can still get fucked. Not by the cock that I crave, but by a pretend prick, spelled in crude imitation of what Mr Malfoy did so flawlessly.

I sit back on my haunches and reach for the dildo. It's strange, how much I love it and hate it at the same time. Love it, because, god, it does things to me that I didn't know were possible. Hate it, because it's just a lump of bloody rubber or something. It's not _him_.

I hate it, because this is all I can get. This is all I'm worth, some lifeless thing I had to pay for, bought from a stupid shop for perverts. That's the only thing I can get to give me what I need.

Love it, because the fucking thing makes me feel like nothing on earth, like I'm so turned on I'm dying, and then when I come, like I'm turning inside out and I might never stop.

I coat the length of it with lube, relishing the smooth silky glide under my fingers. My own cock is still hard and bobs in sympathy as I stroke around the swell of the dildo's head, making sure every part is covered. I think about getting Mr Malfoy's cock ready like this. Getting him ready to fuck me. I wish he had let me do it. I wish so many things.

At the time, all I could do was gawp like a useless fool. Such a fucking waste. If he was here, now, I would let him see how I appreciate it. I would drop to my knees, I would nuzzle at his crotch, hungry for it. I would whimper as I undid his trousers. I would close my eyes and drink in the scent of him, rub my face against the soft fuzz of his balls and, god, I would show him how I worship him. I'd show him what I could do for him, how I could get his cock ready for me, get it so good and wet, I'd suck it and stroke it until the skin was stretched taut and shiny, until it was glistening with lube, flushed dark, with pre-come shining at the slit. Just like mine is, now, curving up towards the ceiling as I smear the excess over the head and around the ridge. Delicious ripples of heat rise up from the soles of my feet as I run my thumb over the underside. I could make it so good for him, I know I could. I just wish―

I've got to stop dreaming about stuff that can't happen. I'm just going to do this one last time, and then I'll... I dunno. Get over it. I'm seventeen, for fuck's sake. Dad says I can do anything I want. So why does the only thing I'm ever sure I want have to be _him_?

I stretch out my clean left hand for my wand. It would feel wrong to get lube on it. I set the Charm to work on the dildo, and then the time delay spell. Now I've got two minutes to coax it in and get comfortable, before.... Something about the time constraints makes it more of a thrill. I can never find the privacy to do this half as often as I want to, and I still find it kind of tricky to manoeuvre its length inside myself. It's quite slim, but whether it's inexperience, or maybe just the way I'm made, the initial stretch is always hard to take.

I try to breathe slowly. To push out as if trying to expel it, before letting it nudge in a little further. To picture Mr Malfoy telling me softly how well I'm doing. How good it's going to feel. How I'm going to love it, just as soon as he's all the way inside, just as soon as— oh, _fuck_ , that's— _nngh_. I tilt my hips and let it slide in another inch. The fullness makes me pant, and I'm hot all over and I just want to let myself sink down, face forwards, and rut into the mattress while the thing fucks me. But it's not all the way in, yet, and I'll enjoy it so much more if I can just―

I breathe out and push in at the same time. I'm making so many sounds – a high sound of surprise as the dildo slips in further than I expected, and then a low, rumbling moan of satisfaction that I feel all the way down to my gut. Oh, _god_. It's never quite how I remember it. It's always _better_ , like I can't quite make myself believe afterwards how insanely good it was. _Hell_ , oh, yes. I have no trouble pushing it in to its full length now and the sensation of being full to my very depths takes my breath away. I let myself slump down onto the bed so that my chest and face are on the mattress while my arse remains high in the air.

Sweet holy Merlin.

I lie there for what seems like an hour, but is probably only a few seconds, my cock leaking helplessly onto the covers, and then the Charm starts to work, and I'm― _oh, fuck, oh fuck, ohhhhh_...

It's like‒ it's like, oh god. It's like. A slow. Relentless. _Driving_ , inside me. Never stopping. Never. Just over, and over, and over, and over, and―

My fingers clutch at the covers and I let out a long, long moan, resting on my forehead with my mouth falling open and hanging slack, my body squirming again and again as it just. Keeps. Fucking me, the whole length of it thrusting in until I feel like I'm as full as it's possible to be, then gliding smoothly out until I'm aching to be filled again. My balls feel so tight and there's a ferocious bliss welling up from my spine – fuck, I'm going to come already if I'm not careful. I scrabble for my wand and gasp out the incantation to slow it right down, leave it barely moving at all, just a slow, torturously intense drag over each and every nerve ending.

Hell. That's almost worse. I should never have got so worked up before I started, I shouldn't have thought about him so much – except that was the whole _point_ , Al, you tosser. I almost laugh at how apt the insult is. Merlin, I'm the biggest tosser around. If only there was a NEWT in self-abuse, I'd be aceing that one. I flash on the image of Mr Malfoy in the bathroom, his eyes glinting with amusement as I knelt on the floor before him. _Come come, Albus. You know how to wank, don't you?_ , and, oh, god, just the thought of it tips me right over the fucking edge and I'm jerking and twitching as a high surprised panting spills from my mouth, my face contorted and my arse clenching tight around the inexorable strokes of the dildo.

I just stay there on my hands and knees, rocking slightly until the tremors subside.

Fuck. This was meant to be— _fuck._

I wasn't meant to―

I was going to take a long time, draw it out. Really savour it. Get the whole bloody mess out of my system. I'm such a dick, I almost feel like crying. Why did I have to―

I reach for my wand and clean up the splotches of spunk that are cooling on the bed, then flop down on the covers.

Well, I'm just going to have to have _another_ last time. Yep. That's completely fair, actually. That totally counts. It's the same _time_ , I'm just coming more than once. It makes perfect sense. I'm not even going to take the dildo out again. I'm just going to lie here for a minute, the heaviness flowing around my body like melted wax. Feel the dildo fucking me softly, slowly, until I feel like starting again. It won't be long. I concentrate on the sweet lingering pull, the delicious friction of the outstroke, and then the breath-taking invasion as it fills me again. Oh, no, it won't be long at all.

I imagine the weight of his body pressing against me. Fucking me with smooth, easy strokes. Taking his time. Because he's had me once already and we're just going slow now, because it feels good. Because we can. Because we've got all the time in the world. My cock is still mostly hard, and I can feel the low, determined stirrings of arousal again as I shift on the bed to get comfortable. I imagine him whispering in my ear. His breath hot and damp. What would he say? What would it be like, if we were together and, for once, he didn't want to get rid of me as soon as he'd fucked me?

I try to ignore the great bloody pang of self-pity clenching in my stomach and concentrate on how it would be. I spell the dildo to go faster, too. Just a tiny bit faster. Not like there's any hurry. Not like we have to rush.

_“Ohh, Albus. Do you like that? Do you like it, when I'm inside you like this? Yes. Of course you do. You love it, don't you? You feel— ahh, so good. Like you're made for my cock. I could do this forever. Just fucking you slowly. So slowly. So you can feel every inch. Every... single... inch."_

I imagine him raising my hands above my head, laying my body out taut beneath himself and looking down at me as he enters me again, luxuriating in the feel of every stroke. I imagine him kissing the back of my neck, nuzzling the hair at my nape and then sighing as I cant my hips and let him sink in a little further.

I wish he'd tell me what he wanted. I would do anything. I just want to make it good for him, to make him feel half of what I do. To make him smile at me again. I stretch my spine out and, oh, god, the way the dildo moves inside me almost makes me yowl.

I wonder if this would feel right for him. When I lengthen my back this way and tilt my arse up higher, so he could slide in deep. _Ahh_. Deeper still. I wonder if he'd like to hear the sounds I make. Helpless, shameful little sounds of need. I wonder if he'd like to see me with my hair falling in my face, my eyes closed so I can memorise every single movement, every brush of his skin against mine. I wonder if he'd like the way I look when I'm getting fucked.

An idea comes into my head and I feel my cheeks burn, but I want to know. I _need_ to know how I look. I get myself turned around so I'm facing the wardrobe, then grab my wand and aim it at the door, where the mirror hangs. It takes a minute to get it open at just the right angle, but then – oh god – my reflection swings into view.

I feel almost too shy to look, but once I do, I can't pull my eyes away. I'm on the bed with my arse in the air. My face looks... Merlin. My hair is a mess. My eyes look slightly wild. My cheeks are pink, which I was expecting, but my mouth... I didn't know it would look that way. My lips are so full and flushed and as the dildo fucks in, as I dip my back lower, my lips push forward in a little pout. I'm sort of captivated by the sight of myself like this. Like I don't quite recognise who I am.

My wand's still in my hand and, on impulse, I spell the dildo to go faster. Harder. _Ah_. That's— _ohh_. The strange boy in the mirror ducks his head for a moment, then meets my eyes again, gasping at the new sensations. A long moan comes from his mouth and the muscles of his arms stand out as he sways backwards, his arse angled higher than ever. God, he moves with such... abandon. Like he can't control himself. But it's not some other boy, it's me. It's me there, with my body trembling, starting to pant as the motions of the dildo increase in intensity. It's me, with my cock twitching, rocking backwards to meet each stroke. It's me looking so bloody wanton, reckless with it, like I was born to be fucked, and fucked hard. I whisper the spells for _faster, more, harder_ , and then, I can't watch any more, I have to let my chest fall down onto the mattress so I can give myself over to the merciless pounding of the dildo. But in my mind I can still see the wild, instinctive movements of my body, the uninhibited delight all over my face.

Now I know what I must have looked like when I was with him. And I'm glad. I'm so _glad_ he saw me like that, like no-one else has ever seen me. I'm glad it was him. I know I shouldn't be. I know what he did, who he is— oh, god, I know, and I wish I didn't know. But I'm glad all the same, and in this moment, I just don't care. Surges of pleasure, absurdly powerful, streak through me, leaving me helpless in their thrall. There's no way I can stop. I'm making harsh, aching cries that rasp against my throat. Every muscle of my body is pulled tight. It's like flying, like _Incendio_ , like fucking torture and bliss and I just want to keep this, keep this feeling forever, but my hand's moving to my cock almost against my will and I'm slamming into my own fist like I'm possessed. I feel a shocking wave of rolling, yearning heat rising up deep inside and then I'm coming in white-hot bursts, the dildo's insistent thrusts like heaven, like sweet agonising heaven.

My cock jerks again and again until it feels like the last spasms are being wrenched out of me, and then a sweeping lethargy settles over me. My heart's pounding crazily, and my muscles grumble as I let my legs sink down onto the bed, but I don't care. I don't care that I'm lying in my own come, either, but the dildo's battering is now unbearable against my tender arse, and I pull it out with a wince and toss it to one side. I'll clean everything up later. For now I just want to enjoy the delusion of being at peace.

I lie on the bed, listening to my own breathing, fast and harsh, but already starting to return to normal. My limbs are heavy, my body finally sated for a while. I feel like I'm floating in a warm, syrupy bath. Like everything is going to be OK.

I could fall asleep right now. In fact... I check the time. Hours and hours before Mum and Lily get home. Why not? I can barely be bothered to pull the covers over myself, and then I'm drifting, dreaming of somewhere quiet and safe, where I don't have to think any more. Somewhere I can just be myself, where I don't have to choose between what feels right and what feels good. When I dream, I'm not alone, with only pathetic fantasies to keep me warm. Instead, long, lean arms wrap around me as I sleep, to hold me close until I wake. And no-one knows or cares if they bear the tangled dark scars of the past.


End file.
